Gathering Courage
by aDreamAway
Summary: She was afraid, so she left. He thought it was what she wanted, so he didn't run after her. Six months later she musters up the courage to tell him what she had left unsaid. L/J Oneshot AU.


**Author's Note: **Yesterday I was on a plane and I was listening to 1989 on repeat (as one does) and one of my favorite songs from the album is How You Get The Girl and, I don't know, maybe because I was terribly bored on the plane I began thinking of James and Lily, because c'mon, James and Lily. Anyway, I came up with this. And honestly, at this point has nothing to do with the way the song goes. But I felt like it needed to be put out there, y'konw?

**Disclaimer: **Surprisingly enough, I am neither J.K. Rowling nor Taylor Swift. I am disappointed at both facts. And I am even more disappointed that I don't own all of Taylor Swift's clothes. Because that girl has a good sense of style.

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><p><em>"<em>_You'll stand there like a ghost, shaking from the rain. She'll open up the door and say, 'Are you insane?' You'll say it's been a long six months, and you were too afraid, to tell her what you want."_

_—_Taylor Swift, How You Get The Girl

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><p>The knock was so faint amongst the pitter-patter of the rain against his roof that James Potter nearly swore didn't happen. Still, something drew him up from his seat next to the fire that Sirius claimed was completely necessary and made him open up the door. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting — Maybe someone got lost and needed to use the telly? — but it surely wasn't Lily Evans.<p>

He told himself would have shut the door, gone back to the fire, poured himself a drink or something if she hadn't looked so much like a wet cat. (Honestly, the little voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he wouldn't do that. As much as he told Remus that he was over her, god knows he wasn't. Not yet, at least. Pretending was easier than facing the truth, though. Judging from knowing looks, that was the only reason why he hadn't been confronted by his friends over the matter yet.) Her hair, which typically hung in a halo above her head, frizzing from humidity and glowing a brilliant shade of red in the glow of an autumn sunset, was drenched by the water. She wasn't wearing a coat and her jeans were painted to her skin from the rain.

She looked surprised, when he opened the door. As if she was half-expecting him to ignore her. Neither of them said anything, for a few seconds. Green eyes locked in hazel, both breathing quickened and breathless.

James was standing in the doorway, not letting her in, but not pushing her away.

Her voice rang out clear amongst the silent screaming of it all. "You were supposed to come after me."

"What?"

She repeated herself, her voice chocked this time as if she had been crying. As if she had lost the gumption she had held moments before and was trying to hold back tears again.

His brows furrowed and he let out a long sigh, that could have been mistaken for a chuckle in another situation. His head shook and droplets of rain fell onto his face. "You…wanted me to run after you? I thought…"

Her cheeks flushed red and she drew her arms across her chest, shivering slightly. "I should go. It was a bad idea coming here. A mistake. I'm…I'm sorry. For everything."

Lily went to turn away, to walk back down the pathway, to where her car was sitting down the road. To get in it, drive away, as far as her tank of gas would carry her. Go, go because she couldn't stand to say, couldn't stand to face it all, couldn't stand to admit it all. She would pull over on a side-road, bang her hands against the steering wheel and let out the tears she was struggling to hold in. She would let her emotions catch up to her and that would be it. She would forget about him, forget about tonight, and move on. Progress, she remembered, is everything. Eventually, James would be nothing more than a memory of teenage love gone astray. They had been young, they had been foolish.

His hand grabbed her arm. "Stay."

She froze, still half turned away from him, terrified like a deer in headlights of what was to come next. As the urge to comfort her welled up inside of him, he fought to repress it. Replaying in the back of his mind sang the words she had spoken: "This isn't working. We aren't working. It's over, James. We are over."

"I…" _I still love you._

"Lily," her name felt raw against his lips, "would you — can you — just, come inside. Please."

She nodded, entering his — _their _— house. "It, er, looks nice."

He ignored her. "Go stand by the fire. I'll put on the kettle."

She nodded again, moving next to the fire and starring at the flames dancing behind the glass. He only glanced at her once, as he was fiddling with the stovetop. She was beautiful as ever, but she looked more broken than before. Although, he guessed, that could be purely because there were faint tear marks making there way down her face. There was another pang in his heart. The only time he had ever seen her cry was after her father had died, leaving her and Petunia behind. Petunia didn't talk to her at the funeral (she didn't talk to James, either. But that wasn't a surprise.), but Lily braved that with the same stony expression she had when they had broken up. The salt stained tracks were still there, and oh god, he had to do something about them.

He looked away.

Her eyes remained focused on the fire, as if she was examining every part of it. As if it would reveal something to her, something she didn't already know. She had to say something, but there was something ceremonious about the silence that filled the room. If she spoke now the spell would be broken. She could hear him moving around. From the sound of his soft footsteps, he had left the hard wood floor of the kitchen and was moving along the carpeted hallway. To the bedroom. Their bedroom. No, his bedroom.

Should she follow him? Was he expecting her to follow him? Did he think she was here for some sort of booty call? No. James wasn't naive enough to think that. Besides, if he thought for one second that sex was what she wanted he probably wouldn't have let her in the door. It would be too much for him. If he was to get over her — oh, god, what if he already was over her? — then he would need a clean break. Her eyes remained focused on the fire.

"Here," he said, shoving a bundle of clothes in her hand. One of his old t-shirts and a pair of boxers. "They're dry and, er, you looked cold. I swear they're both clean. I would have, er, given you some of the clothes you left, but, uh, Sirius got—"

"Thank you."

When she came back in the living room there were two cups of tea sitting on the coffee table. James tried not to stare at her, tried not to remember how fucking good she looked in his clothes.

Now he was the one starring pointedly into the fire. "Why did you come here tonight?"

Her body weight shifted next to him on the couch as she tucked one leg underneath herself. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit from his school days.

"I was so afraid, James. I still am."

He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since she arrived. She looked so vulnerable and that terrified him. Lily Evans was many things: kind, ferocious, stubborn, and brilliant, but vulnerable wasn't one of them. He quelled the awful sort of pride that he felt in knowing that he was the one to make her feel vulnerable. He had that effect on her.

"Of what?"

She turned sideways, so she was fully facing him. The side of her head rested against the side of the couch and she resisted the urge to put her face into it. To hide herself away. When she finally worked up the courage to respond, her voice was scarce more than a whisper. "Love."

"I…" He didn't know what he was planning on saying. Didn't know how to respond, didn't know what she meant, didn't know what that could entail.

"You were always so fucking sure of everything. And I wasn't and I felt terrible, because I wasn't. And I loved you. Still love you, present tense. That terrifies me too. Looming over me is this horrifying 'What if?' What if we fall out of love? What if one day when we are sixty we realize that we don't like each other? Then we'll have nothing. I'll have nothing, at least you have your mates. What do I have? A sister who hates me and a former best friend who I'd rather never see again. You are all I have. I guess I just thought that it would be better to cut it off now. Have a clean break and never have to worry about that, you know? I know how it feels to be lonely. I can deal with it. What I can't deal with is one day you waking up and saying that this is it. Besides, you deserve someone who can give you everything you need. Someone who can love you as much as you love them, and I don't think I can. I am so fucking selfish, self-centered, stubborn.

"And I guess I wanted you to convince me that it was okay. Call me when I spewed bullshit. Remind me that I was wrong when I said I didn't love you."

"I didn't kn—"

She cut him off, standing up and making a move to walk towards the door. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. None of it matters, you're probably over me."

For the second time that night he grabbed her wrist, giving her a yank and causing her to fall onto the couch. Onto him. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her close to him. He buried his face in her hair.

"I love you," he said. "I love you so god damn much. Don't ever try to convince yourself that I don't. You're an idiot, you know that?"

"I'm crying," she told him. "My mascara is going to ruin your shirt."

"I don't give a fuck about my shirt."

He began trailing kisses down her hairline, stopping at the crease of her lips.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

"I know."

Their lips met.

"I love you," she said, as she finally pulled away.

"I know. I love you, too." She bent her head down to his chest, breathing in his scent. "I'm still mad at you for leaving, though. Do me a favor, dear, and don't ever do that again."

She pulled away, grinning at him, through the tears that were still falling. "Okay."

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><p><em>Hope you enjoyed it! Please review, because those seriouslyseriouslyseriously (siriusly, too) make my day.<em>


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